


While his name is still spoken

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Future Fic, M/M, Martin Blackwood: Big Damn Hero, Martin returns, Mentions of Melanie King and Daisy/Basira, Rated Teen for swears, minor appearance by Georgie Barker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 12:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: "Will you tell me about him?""What would you like to know?""Tell me about how he saved the world."





	While his name is still spoken

**Author's Note:**

> _"Do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken?" ~ Terry Pratchett, Going Postal_

"Here's your Aunt Daisy and Aunt Basira," he says, pointing at the smiling figures in the photograph, "on their honeymoon to France. See the building in the background? That's the Eiffel Tower. And over here is your Aunt Georgie, and her friend Melanie." He leans in to the boy in his arms, whispering conspiratorially. "Melanie doesn't like me much, but I still like her. She's an amazing person."

"She makes muffins."

"She- what?"

"She makes muffins. When I'm at Aunt Georgie's."

Jon laughs, shaking his head. "Of course she does."

"They're good."

"I bet they are. Do you think you could bring me one, next time?"

The boy shakes his head solemnly. "She said they weren't for you."

Jon laughs again, and moves down the shelf as the boy points to another frame, with an older photo.

"That's Tim. You would have liked him, he was always playing pranks. One April Fool's he filled the entire office with plastic spiders. Took us a week to find them all." The boy giggles. "He passed away a long time ago, though. Long before you were here."

He moves farther along the shelf, to an old Polaroid scavenged from an artsy phase in university. He doesn't know the woman in this photograph, but he's made a point of memorizing her face. 

"And this is Sasha. I told you about Sasha, remember? She's the one who taught me the Dewy Decimal System, like I use at the library." He reaches out, runs a finger down the frame. In the photograph, a young woman smiles back at him, happy and carefree. "It's a shame you never got to meet her."

"What about that one?" The boy leans far forward in his father's arms, sneaking a look at a frame half-hidden behind the others.

The smile does not drop, but the sadness in it intensifies; Jon reaches, shifting his son to one arm so he can pick up the photograph.

"That's Martin Blackwood." He tilts it toward the boy. "You know  _ Martin."  _

"Oh," the boy says, and he laughs in recognition. 

~~~~~

"Dad? Will you tell me about him?"

Jon does not need to ask who he means - he may no longer  _ Know, _ but he knows his son nonetheless.

"Okay, TinTin. What would you like to know?"

The boy shifts forward, eagerly, eyes far too bright and curious for bedtime.

"Tell me about how he saved the world."

Jon smiles. It is a favorite, and one he has told a hundred times. He'd gladly tell it a thousand more.

"Long ago, long before you were born, the world was haunted."

The boy settles back on his pillows, eyes wide as the familiar tale unfolds.

"Terrible monsters stalked the streets at night, all in thrall to fourteen vicious entities that fed on our fear of their servants. There were hunters and spiders and beings of madness and rage; living puppets and writhing worms; there was empty solitude, and there were eyes.

"Not all the servants of these entities were monsters, and not all were willing. Many people found themselves drawn into their orbits by chance decisions that shaped the rest of their lives, and then were unable to escape. I was one of them. And so was Martin Blackwood."

"You worked for the Eye," the boy interjects.

Jon smiles indulgently, nodding at his son. "Yes, we worked for the Eye. So did everyone in the Archives, after a fashion. But we were there the longest."

"And then he had to leave."

"Who's telling this story, hmm?"

The boy giggles. "Sorry."

Jon shakes his head, laughing. "Yes, he had to leave. I did something very stupid and was in the hospital for a long time, and while I was gone he learned of something very, very important. You see, I said there were fourteen entities, and so everyone thought there were - but while I was gone he learned that there was another, greater and more terrible than any of the rest, and it had plans in store for humanity that would bring about not only the end of the world as we knew it, but the end of the world entirely."

"The Extinction." It's a whisper - even in a story, even long after the danger is gone, the fifteenth entity is a frightening thing.

"Yes. The Extinction. And Martin Blackwood realized that he was the only one who could stop it - the fate of the entire world rested on his head! So he made a deal - a terrible, horrifying deal with an evil man - and he left the Archives, never to return."

Jon falls silent. No matter how many times he tells this story, it doesn't get easier. 

"Dad?" The boy prompts him, reaching out to poke him on the arm.

"Sorry." He takes a deep breath, and continues. "There was a man called Peter Lukas, who was a lord of Solitude and Isolation. He was a human, and he served the forsaken places and the quiet nights, but he was not unwilling: he delighted in the misery he could cause. It was he that knew the Extinction was coming, and it was he who told Martin Blackwood. They made a deal, to work together and stop it, and when their deal was done he promised that Martin could come home.

"But he was duplicitous, and did not tell the full story. For to stop the Extinction, Martin Blackwood would need to follow the same Forsaken god that Peter Lukas served; and to follow that god was to change and forget yourself. Peter Lukas planned to use Martin to stop the Extinction, then use him again for his own purposes; for like all the entities, the Lonely wanted to change the world, though not as destructively as the Extinction. Using Martin Blackwood, Peter Lukas planned to succeed.

"Martin was clever, though, and he figured out Peter's plot. And he was cunning, so he began to build a plot of his own to stop it. And he was selfless, and brave, so he kept planning until he knew he could not only save the world, but also make sure it was never threatened again. 

"I didn't know this at the time, of course. I was lost, and slipping further every day. Just as the Lonely wanted to change Martin Blackwood, so the Eye wanted to change me, and it was doing a pretty good job of it too. Your Aunt Daisy and Aunt Basira were doing their best to help me, but we were none of us prepared for what Martin did. 

"What did he do?" The boy's voice is softer now, sleepy, lulled by his father's story.

"I don't know." Jon smiles ruefully. "Peter Lukas had a grand scheme planned, some way to drive the Extinction back and away from our reality, and Martin Blackwood found a way to twist it. Instead of using the power of the Eye and the Lonely to force it away, he bound them together, them and all the rest - Hunt and Web, Spiral and Slaughter, Vast, Buried, Corruption, Stranger - even the End. And when Peter Lukas forced the Extinction from our reality, all the others were dragged with it, relegated back to theoretical concepts. We still fear the things they represent, of course, but they no longer feed on it.

"And with them gone, all that they controlled had to stop. All the monsters that stalked the streets vanished where they stood, no longer able to maintain their reality against the laws of physics. All the wax people melted, and the meat people collapsed under the impossibility of their own design - and I know what you're going to say, we're all meat people, but these were different - the living shadows faded away, and the spiders went back to spinning harmless webs.

"All the humans that served them stopped as well, as whatever physical or psychological changes the entities had lent them disappeared in an instant -  _ that _ was how all of us at the Archives found out something had changed. We didn't find the recordings Martin had left us until later. But I had been working for the Eye for a long time, and all of that caught up with me in an instant: it felt like my head had been stuffed full of cotton wool, like all the lights had gone out; I had gotten so used to the steady stream of knowledge pouring in from the Eye I was lost without it." 

He pauses, tilts his head to the side. "I also got myself stuck in the hospital for another two weeks with extreme exhaustion and malnutrition, because apparently humans need to eat and sleep."

The boy laughs on cue, delighted as always with Jon's self-deprecating joke.

"Regardless, I was lucky. We found out later what had happened to Peter Lukas. He was human, it was true - but he was a human that should have died a hundred years ago or more, and the only thing keeping him alive was devotion to the Lonely. When it left, all those years and years caught up with him in an instant, and he crumbled where he stood.

"It should have been a happy ending. It was the best thing we could have hoped for, better than we'd ever dared dream. The world was free. Martin Blackwood had saved us." Jon closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. "But he paid the price, as he knew he would. Peter Lukas's plan required a sacrifice, and even though he was able to twist it, that fact could not be changed. The entities were gone, but to keep them away required far more than a single ritual."

Jon turns to face his son fully, giving him a smile that is both sorrowful and proud. "He accepted his fate for the sake of the world, and didn't hesitate. So that is what I can tell you about Martin Blackwood. He was the bravest man I ever met."

And that is where the story ends, where the story has always ended. But the boy is getting older now, and has new questions to ask: questions whose answers have always been implied but never addressed directly.

"Did he die?"

The smile fades with the words, falling away as Jon's gaze drifts into the distance. Looking, not  _ Looking; _ he's learned his lesson long since: there is nothing for him to  _ See. _ Not anymore. 

"No. He just had to go away for a while."

"When will he come back?"

"I don't know, TinTin. When he's done what he needs to, I suppose."

The boy tilts his head, staring at his father's expression. It's an odd one, one that he does not have a word for yet. "Do you miss him?"

"Every day." And it is the truth, truer than anything he has ever known. Martin Blackwood is a hollow place inside his chest, an ache he will carry with him until the day he dies. 

His life is... good. He has friends, he has a job he enjoys, he has a son that he loves so much it sometimes feels like it will tear him apart from the inside if he thinks about it too long. Yet it still creeps over him when he least expects it, that subtle melancholy of lost chances and regret, the wistful quiet of memories and what-ifs. Martin is gone, and Jon has gone on without him; but he will never be free of the sorrow that has been left behind.

The boy has been raised on fairy tales and happy endings. He knows how these things are supposed to go. “Were you going to marry him?”

A smile plays about Jon's lips, far from joyful but with an echo of it. “I don’t know, TinTin. I might have. Might not. Guess we’ll never know, huh?”

“Until he comes back.”

Jon laughs, soft and sad. “Yeah. Maybe if- maybe when he comes back.” He shakes himself; forces a real smile and leans over to kiss the boy's forehead. "But that was all a long time ago, and it's bedtime now. You gotta get some sleep, kiddo."

So he smiles, and dutifully closes his eyes. Jon tucks him in before leaving the room, taking a minute to smile back at him from the doorway before clicking off the light. It'll be another twenty minutes, at least, before the boy actually falls asleep; but it's cute that he pretends.

He gives an exaggerated snore as the door clicks shut, and Jon has to cover his mouth to suppress a laugh. 

~~~~~

Monday brings work, and school. It's a quiet day at the library, and Jon's afternoon is filled with returning books to the stacks and chatting with coworkers. He picks up TinTin at the bus stop, and the conversation on the way home revolves around the absolutely  _ hilarious _ joke one of his classmates told at lunchtime, the one that went - no, that's not right, it was -  _ anyway, _ the girl that sits next to him snorted milk out her nose and it was the  _ best! _

Jon listens with a smile.

Tuesday is movie night at Georgie's, and they end up staying up late into the night, talking about anything and everything, with TinTin fast asleep on the couch between them. 

Wednesday is quiet, and tired, and remembering that Jon is not as young as he used to be.

Thursday there is a birthday party for one of the kids at school. Jon chats with the other parents, swapping stories of their kids, while said kids run circles around the house screaming. The excitement of the day means TinTin crashes early, falling asleep on the couch back home halfway through the cartoon he is watching. Jon carries him to bed, and spends the rest of the evening reading a book. In the dark, in bed, he thinks about all the happy, smiling parents at the party, leaning on their partners' arms, laughing and sharing inside jokes. He tries not to think about the might-have-beens. He fails.

Friday, Daisy and Basira throw a dinner party. They talk about work and life, and trade inside jokes established long ago, and Melanie glares at Jon but spends a good hour on the floor with a box of crayons, coloring with TinTin.

On Saturday, they go to the park.

Ten years.

Ten years with only the minimum of human contact, short interactions with cashiers and store clerks interspersed with days - weeks -  _ months _ of solitude. Ten years of traversing the line between this world and something  _ other, _ of repairing the holes in reality with nothing more than spit and prayers and a whole bucket-load of intuition. 

Martin is tired. But it is done now, and he can finally go home. 

He's spent the last several days simply  _ being. _ Being around people, being present in the world. A woman in line at the coffee shop the day before had grumbled at him to hurry up his order, and he'd nearly broken down into tears at the shear joy of being  _ noticed.  _ For so long, everyone's gazes had slid off him as though he wasn't even there, and would be forgotten as soon as he was gone. 

Ten years with a foot in the Lonely would do that to a person. 

But it was worth it. Oh, it was worth it, because the world is whole now and the monsters are gone. 

Martin pauses where he is walking, closing his eyes and turning his face to the sun's warmth, and smiles.

There are things he needs to do, now he is back. Things he has been waiting to do for ten years that he finally has the freedom to pursue. He's already done some quick internet searches, found addresses and contact information. Daisy and Basira are married, apparently, and Melanie is running a new show. Jon's friend Georgie still has her podcast, and is quite famous in certain circles. And Jon is working at a library.

He feels a flutter of nerves at the thought, which is rather ridiculous, he thinks. He's spent ten years embroiled in all the deepest fears humankind has to offer - surely reconnecting with an old friend should be easy, by comparison. Still, he's nervous. 

It's good nerves, though. He wants to see Jon again, and he's pretty sure Jon will want to see him - will be relieved he's okay, grateful to hear the whole story; he'd explained what he could on the tapes, but it was far from everything he could have said. 

Or maybe Jon will be angry at him for the choice he made, for taking the whole weight of the world onto his own shoulders and not letting anyone else help. He wouldn't mind, either way. He just wants to talk to Jon again, and talk to the others - Jon first, Jon is always first for Martin. He just wants to hear Jon's voice.

And then he does.

"Stay away from the geese! They can be vicious."

Martin blinks his eyes open in shock and turns toward the sound. There, halfway across the park, standing in a field and shouting warnings at someone Martin cannot see, is Jon. 

Martin stops breathing. 

Jon's hand is held near his face, keeping the sun out of his eyes. His hair is greyer than Martin remembered, though that is to be expected. It's shorter as well, closer to the professional cut it was when they first joined the Archives than the disheveled mess it became as the years went on. He's wearing a loose-fitting jacket, unzipped, and Martin can see he's still skin-and-bones beneath; even from this distance, he knows there will be lines of exhaustion pressed into the skin around his eyes.

Martin can't look away.

He has loved Jon for so long - carried the weight of it around with him for so many years, a heavy certainty that anchored him to the real world even as he drifted further away. It had been a crush at first, just a small flutter of feelings emerging in a blush when Jon would smile at him - but over the years it shifted to something deep and profound, an inevitability and a surety he's never felt with anything else. He never really left it behind, in the Lonely, just got used to carrying it, used to the drag of longing on every breath and every moment, the never-to-be-followed pull of wanting to go back to Jon.

Now it is rising up over him, overwhelming and all-encompassing as he watches him walk across the park toward whoever he was talking to: he loves Jon. 

Martin leans against a nearby tree, and breathes.

As he is standing there, watching, a child runs into view, haring toward Jon and grinning wide. 

"It hissed at me!"

Jon's reply is quieter, and Martin can't hear what he says; but he sees Jon lean down to ruffle the boy's hair. He smiles. He hadn't known Jon was good with children, but it's just one more thing to love about him. He wonders who Jon is babysitting for. 

The boy jumps back, throwing up his hands to defend against Jon's affection, and his voice is halfway between shrill laughter and exasperation when he speaks.

"Dad! Stop it!"

Jon laughs too, stepping forward in a halfhearted attempt to chase him, and the boy runs off again. Jon jogs a few paces after him before letting him go, waving a hand at him to let him know he's allowed to roam, and Martin leans against his tree, and he watches. 

Jon has a son.

The thought sticks in his head as though it's all the wrong shape and size, and he's not sure why it is so hard for him to process it. He'd known the world had moved on without him, of course, Daisy and Basira are married for god's sake, the Institute closed down not three months after he stopped the Extinction,  _ of course _ the world has moved on. He just hadn't expected- well. 

A small, detached part of his brain does a brief analysis of the scene before him. The boy has fair hair and skin, not at all like Jon, so he's most likely adopted or a stepson. He can't see a ring on Jon's finger from where he's standing, but that doesn't mean much.

He watches as the boy comes back, carrying an interesting rock that he shoves into his father's face, and he watches as Jon produces all the proper noises of interest and curiosity to get the boy running off again, looking for more treasures. He should go over there. He should just go over there, tap Jon on the shoulder, see his eyes widen as he turns around, and tell him he's back.

He doesn't move.

It's not cowardice, he thinks. He's just thrown off, he wasn't planning on talking to Jon until tomorrow, and that would have been on his own terms anyway. Over the phone, easing into it, maybe meet up for lunch if Jon had the time. Not thrown in headfirst in the middle of the park with Jon's son in attendance.

Jon is carefree as he tosses the rock from one hand to another, keeping on eye on his son as the boy runs around. Martin watches Jon watch the boy, and he knows it's probably creepy, but Jon  _ was _ the Archivist. A long time ago, yes, but he of all people can't really object to a bit of harmless spying.

So Martin watches, and his thoughts are still and quiet, absorbing the world without processing it, until the echoes bounce back from the furthest reaches of his awareness and twist themselves into new and unexpected shapes.

He should just go over there. Shouldn't he? Then again...

It's been ten years. Ten years, and the world has moved on. Perhaps Martin has been fooling himself about rekindling whatever affection had lain between himself and Jon. Is it really his place to have expected the world to wait for him? To have expected  _ Jon _ to wait for him? He's the one who left. 

And Jon is... happy. He's happy, and he has a family, and he's put all the horror and heartache of his days as the Archivist behind him. It's all Martin had ever wanted for him, and if Martin goes to him now he'll just be shattering all that progress and dragging him right back into the heart of the tragedy he left so long ago. And what right has Martin to do that?

None whatsoever. And, he realizes, finally straightening up from where he's been leaning against the tree, he doesn't need to. Jon is  _ happy. _ He's got himself a brand-new life, and it's time for Martin to do the same. He's spent ten years drowned in thoughts of the past, with no chance to move on or let go - it's for the best, really, if he makes a clean break of it now. No one's seen him in a decade, anyway. They'll never know the difference if he never reappears.

Not that he'll ever move on, no. No, Jon will always own his heart. If ten years away has proved nothing else, it has confirmed  _ that  _ beyond all shadow of a doubt. But he can build a new life, nevertheless, one with a new job and new friends. Maybe even move out of London, head to the countryside somewhere. That quiet hollow in his chest will forever be there to remind him of all he sacrificed, but he'll find his own way to happiness even so. He has to.

It's as he's standing there, eyes fixed on Jon, imprinting this last sight he'll ever see of him in his memory, that Jon glances at his watch and turns to call for his son.

"TinTin! It's time to go!" Jon cups his hands around his mouth to shout at the boy, but attempting to catch a butterfly proves much more interesting; he is ignored.

"Time to go!" Jon tries again. "TinTin!  _ Martin!" _

The use of his full name finally catches his attention, and the boy - Martin - abandons the butterfly in favor of turning and running toward his father. The last step is taken in a leap; Jon catches him and spins in a circle, laughing, and Martin Blackwood stands frozen in place as his namesake shrieks in pure joy.

Jon had named his  _ son _ after him.

Jon had named his son after him, and that throws all his careful reasoning into knots as he stands there in the shadows of the tree, because if Jon had named his son after him then that means he has no more moved on than Martin has.

And if he has no more moved on than Martin has...

"Jon." It escapes his mouth in a whisper, involuntary and pulled from somewhere deep within him, and he takes a stumbling step forward, away from the tree and toward the man he loves. 

Jon sets the boy on the ground, and takes his hand, and smiles down at him; and they both turn and begin walking away, toward the far side of the park, and they do not see where Martin stands under the tree with one hand outstretched, eyes burning with unshed tears.

_ "Jon!"  _ It steals the breath from him, a desperate cry he can no more hold back than the sea. He's shaking, and his eyes are damp, and there is no air in his lungs but the space is filled with the juddering, unsteady beats of his heart.

Jon stops walking.

The boy glances up at him, frowning, and tugs at his hand to get him to move, but he just stands there, staring straight ahead. Martin wants to call out to him, wants to run to him, but all he can do is watch, paralyzed by an irrational, senseless fear he does not even know the root of.

And then Jon turns around.

His eyes are wide with shock and disbelief, and even from this distance Martin can see the shape his mouth makes as he whispers his name in turn. The boy gives him a confused look, glancing between his father and the man under the tree; and then he shrugs and hurries along as Jon starts walking toward Martin, eyes fixed on his face and not letting go of his son's hand. 

Martin gasps in a shuddering breath as Jon's pace picks up into a jog, finally unfreezing from his petrified stillness, and takes a few unsteady steps out from under the tree. He stops when Jon does, face to face within arms reach of each other. Jon's eyes search his own, and his voice trembles when he speaks.

"Martin?"

Martin nods, and his own voice cracks on his reply. 

"Yeah. Yeah, Jon. I'm back."

He's not sure who takes the first step forward, not sure if it matters - all that matters is that Jonathan Sims is suddenly wrapped in his arms, leaning against him and sobbing into his shoulder - that his own face is buried in Jon's greying hair, that he is shaking with the shock of human contact and relief at the solid, incontrovertible proof that they are both  _ alive _ and  _ here _ and  _ together. _

Jon clings to him one-armed as though he fears he will disappear, and his other hand clutches at the young Martin's shoulder. He's shaking as much as the older Martin is, desperate and frantic; broken words slip out between his sobs, fragments of  _ lost  _ and  _ forever _ and scattered syllables of Martin's own name.

They hold each other, an odd group of two overwrought grown men and one patient child, as Jon's sobs slowly die down into silence and Martin the elder finally pulls his head away from where it is pressed against Jon's so that he can look around. 

He meets the eyes of Martin the younger, who is staring at him with bright curiosity. The boy gives him a slightly hesitant grin.

"Are you Martin Blackwood?"

Martin smiles, a bit. "Yeah. Are you Martin Sims?"

"Yeah." The boy nods, and Jon's hand tightens on his shoulder as he presses his face harder into Martin's neck. He is still shaking.

"Dad talks about you a lot."

"Does he?" Martin is already light and floating inside, but he finds it in him to warm even more at the thought. He shifts, holding Jon closer.

The boy nods again. "Did you really save the world?"

"I think so, yeah." He's never really been one for bragging, but, well, fair's fair. "Yes. I did."

"Cool." The boy's grin is genuine this time. Then he looks at his father, and it dims a little. "Dad? Is everything okay?"

Jon's laugh is broken by a sob. He tightens his arm around Martin one more time before straightening, and Martin lets him step back, his own arms falling to his sides. Jon leaves one hand on his shoulder, holding him as tight as he holds the boy on his other side. His eyes are damp, his hair disheveled, his face blotchy with tears; but his smile is as soft and warm as the sun as he looks between his two Martins.

"Yes. It's better than it's ever been."

The older Martin smiles, and the younger raises his eyebrows.

"Oh...kay, then. Aren't we leaving? You said we could get ice cream on the way home."

"Right. Right, I, uh..." Jon glances around the park, looking a little lost, and his hand absently tightens on Martin's shoulder. "We may have to do a rain check on the ice cream, TinTin. Martin and I- Martin  _ Blackwood _ and I, that is, we need- well, there's some things we need to talk about."

"Can't he come get ice cream with us?"

Jon laughs again, and it is stronger this time. "Of course he can, but maybe next time, yeah? Some conversations are too important to have over dessert."

TinTin makes a skeptical face at that, but Jon talks over him before he can object. 

"How'd you like to spend the night at Aunt Georgie's?"

The boy's face lights up. "Yeah! She  _ always _ takes me out for ice cream!"

"Good. Good, I'll, I'll call her, then."

Jon hesitates, hand squeezing Martin's shoulder again. He seems unwilling to let either of his companions go to grab his phone, almost as if he thinks that the second he loses contact with them, they'll vanish.

Martin realizes with a start that it's true. Jon _ is _ afraid they'll disappear. His logic has been overwhelmed by a tide of emotion, and he is genuinely terrified that if he lets go of either of them for even a moment, he'll lose them.

Martin reaches out, places a hand on Jon's shoulder, and squeezes.  _ I'm here, _ he says with the touch.  _ I'm not leaving you. _ Jon gives him a look of infinite gratitude and releases Martin's shoulder to fumble in his pocket for his phone. He leans toward Martin as he dials, and Martin takes the cue to shift his hand, running it along Jon's back until it is looped over both shoulders; Jon shifts into him, leaning back into the half-embrace and sighing with relief at the solidity of the contact. He keeps a grip on his son's shoulder with one hand, pressing his phone to his ear with the other.

"Hi, Georgie? Are you free tonight?"

Martin can't hear what's said on the other end of the line, but it must be an affirmative.

"Great, do you think you can watch TinTin?" Pause. "No, nothing's wrong, it's... Martin's back."

Another pause, and Martin sees Jon smile into the phone, ducking his head a little in embarrassed happiness. "He's really back, Georgie. He's right here with me. So do you think you can...?" Jon breathes a sigh of gratitude. "Thank you. Thank you, you're the best. I'll have him pack a bag and you can pick him up in about twenty minutes? See you then."

He puts away the phone. "Alright. Let's go home and you can grab your things." He turns, then, to Martin, and there is hesitation in his expression. "Martin, will you...?"

"Of course, Jon. I'm coming with you." Jon relaxes, tension bleeding from his shoulders. Martin shifts his arm, moving back so that they can walk, but Jon grabs for his hand as it falls away and entwines their fingers. The contact startles Martin, but not enough to make him freeze. He tightens his hand around Jon's, catching his eye and giving a reassuring nod. Jon smiles back, and leans into his shoulder as they walk, anchoring himself with the warmth of their arms pressed against each other. 

When they reach the door to Jon's place Martin holds his shoulder again, and he unlocks the door one-handed. TinTin looks a bit annoyed at not being let go, but he's picked up on the oddity of the situation enough not to complain. Once inside, Jon takes a deep breath, and releases his hand.

"Why don't you go pack an overnight bag? Georgie will be here soon."

The boy nods and scampers off, familiar enough with the routine to not need extra guidance. Jon watches him go, tense, and Martin squeezes his shoulder. 

"He'll be okay, Jon."

Jon shudders on an exhale, reaching for Martin's hand again and pressing their shoulders together. 

"I know. I'm just…" he trails off.

Martin nods. "I know."

They wait there, not saying anything, until there is a knock on the door; then Jon turns, finally pulling himself away from Martin, to open it.

"Hi, Georgie. Thanks for taking TinTin so last minute."

"Hey, I'm always down for seeing the kid." She steps inside and stops when she sees Martin, eyes widening. "You're really back, then."

He nods. She looks much the same as the last time they saw each other, waiting in the hospital for Jon to wake up. She has faint streaks of grey in her hair now, and the beginning of laugh lines forming around her eyes. She gives him the same appraising look as she had back then, weighing him against some internal measure of whether he's worth her time, then smiles. 

"I'm glad."

TinTin comes clattering into the room before he can respond, grinning and carrying a bag. 

"Aunt Georgie! Dad says we can get ice cream!"

She laughs. "Does he, now?"

"I did kind of make a promise." Jon has the grace to look guilty.

"Well then, we're just going to have to do that. Ready to go?"

"Yeah! See you tomorrow, Dad!" He turns to give Jon a hug, and Jon crouches down to sweep him into a crushing embrace. If he holds on slightly longer than normal, well, no one's going to mention it.

"See you tomorrow, TinTin. I love you."

"Love you too." The boy steps back, waves at Martin. "It was nice meeting you. Thanks for saving the world."

Martin laughs at that, surprised to find he's a bit choked up. "It was no problem. Nice meeting you too."

Georgie gives Jon a quick hug before leaving, and nods at Martin. "Take care of yourselves."

And then they are gone, and Jon and Martin are alone.

Neither of them move for a minute. Then Jon starts, seeming to come back to himself, and shrugs out of his coat. 

"You can hang yours up here, if you like." He gestures at the hooks on the wall, and Martin follows his lead, taking off his coat and hanging it up. Jon motions him to follow, and moves out of the entryway, toward what turns out to be the kitchen. He makes another vague gesture. "Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, a glass of water?"

"Tea would be lovely." 

Jon doesn't move when Martin speaks, his gaze fixed on the counter. "Jon?"

Now Jon meets his eyes, and they are filled with tears. "I've missed you so much."

"I'm sorry." There is nothing Martin can do to make up for the years he has been gone, the pain he has caused. He opens his arms, and Jon stumbles forward into his embrace again, holding him tight enough to hurt. Martin holds him back with just as much fervor. "I'm sorry, Jon. I missed you too."

"You saved the goddamn world, Martin." He chokes back a sob, pulls back far enough to place his hands on either side of Martin's face. "You have nothing -  _ nothing  _ \- to apologize for."

Martin's breath catches for what must be the hundredth time that day. Jon's face is inches from his own, and his eyes are burning with an intensity of feeling that Martin remembers from a decade ago. His hands are very warm on Martin's face, and his lips are slightly parted. His eyes flick down to Martin's own lips for the briefest of instants, and then he crosses the small space between them and kisses him. 

His lips are soft against Martin's, gentle, almost hesitant. Martin kisses back, sighing softly into Jon's mouth. Jon's thumb strokes along his cheek, and his other hand drifts back to tangle through his hair. Martin runs a hand up Jon's spine, resting the other on his hip, holding him close. Jon tastes of tea and tears, and both their cheeks are wet when they part. 

Martin sniffles a little, resting his forehead against Jon's. "I'm not going to apologize for saving the world, Jon. I'm just sorry I took so long."

"It's okay, Martin." He kisses him again, quick and fierce, and Martin can hear in his voice that he's only just starting to realize the truth in his own words.  _ "We're  _ okay. That's all that matters."

Martin smiles, and kisses him back, longer and slower but no less intense. His eyes are bright when they part, and his smile has shifted into a grin. "I think I'll take that tea now, if that's alright with you. We have a lot to talk about."

  


They are sitting on the couch, leaning into each other with legs tangled together and empty tea mugs abandoned on the side table. Ten years is a long history to catch each other up on, but they've made a fair go of it. Jon's tale is full of family and friends and rebuilding a life once thought impossible. Martin's is told in stops and starts and hesitations, attempts to put words around concepts that language was never meant to convey.

Jon doesn't really understand it all, but that's okay. Martin is  _ here,  _ and that's all that matters. 

He presses his face into Martin's shoulder again, reveling in the all-encompassing warmth of Martin's arms wrapped around him, and smiles.

Martin ducks down, pressing a kiss to Jon's hair. They've been doing that a lot, in between explanations and questions. They've got more than a decade of lost time to make up for, after all. 

"Jon?" Martin's voice is quiet, soft. "There's something I want to tell you."

"Hmm?"

"I- well, I love you. I'm  _ in  _ love with you. Have been for a long time, and never stopped."

Jon shifts, sitting up so he can look Martin in the eye. "I know." He leans forward, kissing him again, a feeling still thrillingly new despite how many times he's done it today. "I love you too."

Martin draws him closer for a moment, a hand on his back holding him steady. Then he pushes him gently away, shaking his head and smiling sadly. 

"Do you? It's been ten years, Jon. You've got a whole new life, you've had so much time to move past everything that happened. Are you sure this isn't just - nostalgia? Clinging to something you used to know because it's been gone for so long?" 

"Martin," Jon's voice catches on the word. Martin is still smiling gently, and Jon takes a minute to look at him,  _ really  _ look. Martin has changed, in the time he's been gone. The warmth and love that is so familiar to Jon is still in his eyes, but it has been joined by a certain distance and hardness, a quiet confidence in his ability to take on anything and everything the world throws at him. They are the eyes of a man who has saved the world, and the hesitant, unsure Archival Assistant Jon knew so long ago is faded. 

He isn't the same man Jon fell for. But Jon loves him, even so.

"What about you? It's been just as long."

Martin laughs. "Jon, I've spent ten years facing down monsters and horrors the likes of which I couldn't have even imagined when we first met. I haven't exactly had the opportunity to, you know, meet someone else and move on."

"There's never been anyone else, Martin. Not after you."

"Oh." Martin's eyes search his. "I'm not the same person you knew before, Jon."

"And I'm not the person you knew, either. You're right, Martin. We don't know each other anymore." He sees how much it hurts Martin to hear it, as much as it hurts him to say it. "But I love you for who you were, and..." He reaches out, brushes a strand of hair back from Martin's face. "I'd like to learn."

Martin's eyes flutter shut, and he turns into the touch. "I'd like that."

"So you'll stay? With me?"

Martin huffs out a laugh. "Until the end of time, Jon." Then he blinks, gives Jon a hesitant look. "As long as you think your son won't mind."

Jon's laugh is bright and joyful, and he feels light as air for the first time in longer than he can remember. "You're his own personal superhero, I'd be in trouble with him if you  _ didn't _ stay. Though-" and his smile dips a little. "You never really signed on for a kid, I mean, if you don't want-"

"Jon." Martin is grinning. "I love kids. If I hadn't been battling monsters this whole time I'd probably have gone the adoption route myself at some point. I'm not going to run away because you've got a son."

"Oh." Jon's smile is back, giddy as anything. A small part of him knows he's being ridiculous, overwhelmed by emotion and not thinking straight because of it, but he can't help it. Martin is  _ back,  _ he's  _ here, _ and he loves Jon and Jon loves him. They still have so much they need to talk about, so much they need to learn about who they have become, so much they need to figure out about where they fit into each other's lives after all this time. But they will be figuring it out together, a small family of three, and they are starting from a place of trust and love. They can handle anything the world throws at them.

"In that case," and Jon leans forward, slightly teasing, full of love, "Martin Blackwood, will you go on a date with me?"

And Martin smiles, and kisses him, and his  _ yes _ is lost somewhere in the space between where their mouths meet but Jon understands all the same.

So much has changed in the years they've been apart, and they have so much to learn about each other. But it's okay. They're together now. And they've got time.

**Author's Note:**

> Martin: It's been ten years, Jon, do we even still know each other?
> 
> Also Martin: Of course I'll help you raise your son, I always wanted to be a dad.


End file.
